


Days of Christmas

by Abradystrix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Jumpers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8802379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abradystrix/pseuds/Abradystrix
Summary: [Written for the Cursed Child Advent Calendar on Tumblr]2k words, G rated Post-CC Draco-centric Scorbus fluff, with Drastoria feels and Christmas jumpers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Without the patience and diligence of @torestoreamends and her editor’s eye there would be no fic: she is awesome, and for this I can only say thank you <3

Draco sighed as he closed the door to his son's bedroom. He hadn't really known what to say when Scorpius had asked if Albus could sleep in his room that Christmas Eve. Being honest, Draco had never really had friends to stay at the Manor, and had never thought about the practicalities. He could only imagine that had Crabbe or Goyle come to stay, he would have gladly deposited them in a guest room elsewhere in the house and gone about his daily routine with minimal disruption. 

Astoria would have known what to do. But she wasn’t there, so Draco had stammered slightly and then arranged another bed, conjured by the eager house elves and easily accommodated in Scorpius' bedchamber. How this arrangement factored into the nebulous relationship between his son and his best friend he had no idea, but he decided that at the relatively innocent age of fifteen he could afford some blissful ignorance on this matter. He tried not to think about how things had been when he was fifteen, and the world had turned ever more murky.

Shaking his head slightly he wandered down to the living room and poured himself a brandy – it was Christmas Eve after all. Astoria’s absence was no less painful these days, but it had become easier to think about her, as though the vice-like grip around his heart was lessening slightly.

As the fire burned low, he remembered Christmases of light and laughter, and a sense that the three of them could and would meet the world with defiance and unity. He thought of the years of gifts, and warmth, and the way her eyes had sparkled even at the very end, when Christmas was spent at her bedside. More than once they had both lain there beside her, in silence and pain, listening to her thready breath and feeling the odd chill of her skin.

He still couldn’t quite believe that he had spoken to Potter, of all people, about that unique pain and how he desired so deeply to see her again. That conversation had seemed to level them somehow, understanding one another through the curtain of the unbearable pain of what it was to lose someone. It had helped.

Nonetheless, the prospect of seeing the Potters tomorrow had him slightly on edge, but he reminded himself that bridges had been built since that night in Godric's Hollow. It still felt alien to him, this mutual cordiality, but he owed it to Scorpius.

He would drop his son off for a warm and friendly slice of Christmas, while Draco paid lip service to his parents in their dotage. He had decided long ago that they did not deserve to see their grandson after all that had transpired upon his marriage to Astoria. He may not have much of a choice, but Scorpius? He would always deserve better.

Perhaps he and Scorpius would return here afterwards and sit by the fire. He liked listening to his son talk, his funny, awkward, and gentle son whom he adored with all his heart. He may not always understand him, but the fierce protectiveness he had felt upon holding his tiny pink body in his arms for the first time had never left him. For the first time in his life Draco had felt truly peaceful.

In the light of the fire, he smiled sadly to himself, remembering the glow in Astoria's eyes as she kissed the top of her son's head and whispered 'Hello, Scorpius' for the very first time. 

The clock on the mantelpiece struck twelve and, draining the last of the brandy, Draco glanced briefly at the family portrait above the fire. Astoria smiled back at him, nodding encouragingly, a three year old Scorpius in her arms. He closed his eyes for a minute, remembering.

He carried those memories with him to bed that night, and dreamed of her laugh.

 

***

 

 

On Christmas morning, Draco took in his reflection in the long hallway mirror, staring in horror at the spinning snowman attached to his torso. Scorpius beamed at his side, seemingly oblivious, further tapping the sleeves of the jumper with his wand so that tiny fairy lights glittered in the stitching.

Draco tried to remind himself of those fleeting festive feelings he had mulled upon the previous night. He tried to remind himself of the joy in his young son's eyes as they had played together, the smile on Astoria's face, the sense of life's sweetness and the warmth of the fire.

He really did try.

 'You look brilliant, Dad!' said Scorpius gleefully.

Draco found he didn't know quite what to say.

The snowman was now tap dancing. He even had a tiny top hat.

'And... Er... You're sure this is... Expected, Scorpius?' He asked, patting his ponytail absently.

'Oh yes! Definitely! Albus was telling me all about the festive jumpers – they all get Weasley jumpers you see – but the past few years there have been more and more magical adjustments and now there's a certain, ah, status to the most festive of the jumpers. Apparently his Uncle Ron won for the first time last year, it was quite the achievement. Harry was livid!'

Scorpius glanced over at Albus, seeking his confirmation of this story. Draco noted wryly that Albus looked to have the same level of enthusiasm for his current garb as Draco did for his, his expression thoroughly unconvinced as he prodded at the procession of reindeer on his front. Draco found he liked him all the more for this reluctant submission to Scorpius' enthusiasm.

However, his fondness for Albus aside, this was not the matter at hand: the matter at hand was a festive competition. A competition with Weasley and Potter, no less. 

Bloody Weasley and bloody Potter. 

Whether it was the element of competition, family honour, or some latent schoolboy rivalry, Draco wasn't sure, but he felt his resolve harden. Briskly he straightened the collar of his crisp shirt under the gaudy wool, ignoring the pirouetting snowman and his tilted top hat. He reached for his travelling cloak, and found it was not so hard to summon a smile as he caught sight of the happy tapping of Scorpius' feet.

It was even harder to contain his emotions when he noticed Scorpius’ own jumper design. He realised now that his son shared one of his dearest Christmas memories: a small blonde head bobbing by the Manor piano as Astoria played, joining in enthusiastically with each verse. How she had laughed with him as he stumbled over each of the words, and the numbers, and how Draco had eventually sung with them, in a surprisingly rich voice, with Scorpius on his knee. Perhaps he would even take Scorpius to see the pear tree that had appeared the next day, just outside their bedroom window.

Overcome with a powerful mix of fierce love and aching nostalgia, Draco found that he could tolerate the wretched snowman after all, if it would bring back that smile to his son’s face.

It was only one day, after all.

Though he could have sworn as they made for the fireplace that the portrait of a young Lucius Malfoy snickered.

 

***

It was noon. They had left the Manor an hour ago.

In the interim, Draco had somehow ended up on a lumpy sofa wedged between ‘Potty and the Weasel’. This was an alarming turn of events. He couldn't help but feel that if he'd been slightly more alert in his response to Ginny’s unexpected hospitality, he could have Apparated swiftly and avoided this altogether.

Yet here he was, glass of Muggle fizz clutched in his hand, observing the absolute mayhem of the Potter household. Scorpius has been instantaneously swallowed by the gaggle of red, frizzy, and black haired children, and Draco had found himself disarmed by a cheerful hug and kiss from both a tipsy Granger and a flushed Ginny, followed by an almost pleasant proffered glass from Potter.

Even Weasley wasn't too awful, having kept his eye rolling and sarcastic comments to a minimum. It was hard, Draco supposed, to maintain the upper hand when your already clashing Chudley Cannons festive jumper had been charmed to resemble two Christmas puddings singing ‘We Three Kings’ in a relentless, booming baritone.

Draco was relieved to note that this time it was Potter attempting the small talk. Perhaps the breakfast tipple had loosened his tongue, or perhaps something really had changed for them, but Draco found it oddly pleasant. Weasley committed only to grunts as he loudly sipped his drink. Draco chose to ignore it.

They ended up watching their sons. They were sitting together near the fire, laughing at something James had said. Draco watched as Albus draped an arm around Scorpius, who relaxed into this intimacy with surprising ease. Oblivious to the world around them, Scorpius beamed, wrapping his own arm around Albus’ waist and resting his head on Albus’ shoulder. The surrounding hoard of Weasleys, Grangers, and Potters were entirely unfazed by this subtle turn of events, though Draco could have sworn he saw James wink at his younger brother.

He didn’t suppose he was surprised. Not really. He glanced over at Harry, who was watching the scene with a similar expression of fond resignation. Their eyes met for a moment and they smiled wryly at one another. Draco raised his eyebrows and saying nothing, they clinked their glasses together and each took a long drink.

Though, Draco reflected to himself, he may not tell Harry about the bed arrangements at the Manor just yet.

When the time came for the adjudication of the jumper contest, there really was no competition. From the twelve tiny drummers, to the six alarmingly life-like miniature geese, right down to the life-size partridge which detached itself from its woollen perch to flutter around the room, it was clear that Scorpius Malfoy was the jubilant and proud winner. The ‘impartial’ judge Charlie Weasley presented Scorpius with the coveted prize of a chocolate Hippogriff, and even a despondent Ron Weasley couldn’t help but smile watching Scorpius’ excitement at this unprecedented victory.

‘I charmed it myself!’ he proclaimed delightedly to the cheering crowd. Albus was standing at his side, and Draco noted the way he was looking at Scorpius, eyes wide with admiration, affection and love writ large on his face. He expected Harry saw it too, as they both sighed awkwardly at the same time.

As he made to exit, already an hour late for his parents, he hugged Scorpius and promised to return in a few hours. Scorpius hugged him back and whispered ‘thank you’ as the tap dancing snowman beat against his chest in the tight embrace. Draco smiled and retreated to the front door, hastily bidding the adults goodbye.

Harry followed him, opening the door to see him off. They turned to look at one another and Draco offered Harry his hand. As they shook hands, Draco watched Harry’s expression. It was still strange to see no animosity there. There was a lot to be said, much more to be understood about this new unfolding family relationship but as the two stood in silence, Draco opted for the obvious.

‘Next year, Potter,’ said Draco, ‘we shall continue this Malfoy reign of victory.’

Harry looked startled and then laughed.

‘Yes, I expect you will… Happy Christmas Draco.’

‘Happy Christmas, Harry.’

As Draco turned and walked down the path to Apparate, he heard the door click shut behind him. The sound of the festivities faded into the background as he found himself walking further, taking in the crisp air around the Potter’s house, as though to brace himself for another chilly Malfoy Christmas.

He thought about the smile on Scorpius’ face, and how much he resembled his mother when he shone. He thought about how proud Astoria would be of them both, opening themselves up to these new situations, fighting that curse of exceptional loneliness.


End file.
